


Each Day Is Your Last

by Nisa



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin Loves Obi-Wan, First Time, Getting Together, Jedi in love, Love Confessions, M/M, OTP of the Force, Obi-Wan Loves Anakin, Romance, and Anakin's curls, more than anything in the universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-02 07:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16782142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nisa/pseuds/Nisa
Summary: I have always wanted to write what really happened after the Poster Boy scene in ROTS.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [temple_mistress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/temple_mistress/gifts).



> This is for you, my amazing and wonderful friend. None of this would have ever be written without you. Thank you for all your help, for our endless discussions and for making me believe that I can actually write. I am truly blessed by the Force to have you in my life.

On the way to the Senate Anakin is mostly silent, listening distractedly to Obi-Wan exchanging polite formalities with the Chancellor. He watches Obi-Wan out of the corner of his eye and keeps probing him gently through the Force, making sure that the other man is all right and has not suffered any lasting damage from their encounter with Dooku.  
Anakin can’t help the sinking feeling that something good is ending. He and Obi-Wan have been together night and day for the past four months and, no matter how dire their circumstances have been all this time, Anakin has already started feeling the pain of loss. Here on Coruscant, he won’t have the luxury of being in Obi-Wan’s company all the time. Besides, even if there were no duties imposed by wartime, keeping them busy and most likely apart, he is sure his old Master wouldn’t want to spend so much time with him anymore. Anakin has no idea what he is going to do tonight, probably spend it in the hangar in the company of his beloved Delta and a couple of other starfighters. Which is why he is completely caught by surprise when before parting their ways Obi-Wan says:  
“What about dinner together?”  
His eyes are fond and he is looking at Anakin with that affectionate smile Anakin has never seen on his face when Obi-Wan was talking to anyone else.  
“Sure, Master,” he eagerly replies and can’t help an answering smile lighting up his face. “I hope Windu won’t keep you too long at this briefing,” he adds with a scowl. “I mean a briefing is supposed to be brief, right? I wonder how Windu manages to make them so long!”  
Obi-Wan shakes his head but Anakin knows it’s more of a game between the two of them now than a serious reproach.  
“ _Master_ Windu, Anakin. And I will do my best to keep things... brief. After all, I do have a pressing appointment.”

 _Oh._ Anakin’s heart sinks again. Of course, after so much time off Coruscant Obi-Wan must want to see someone he has missed all this time. Anakin has no doubt who this lucky person is; he’s seen them so many times talking to each other at meetings and parties, the Prince of Alderaan and Obi-Wan, who is, of course, a secret prince, too. A good match.  
“A pressing appointment?” Anakin blurts out before he can stop himself, his jealousy flaring to life in an instant. “With Senator Organa? Uh, I see… I should’ve guessed… Okay then…”  
Obi-Wan raises his eyebrows in surprise and a shadow passes over his face. Anakin has no idea why, perhaps Obi-Wan is irritated at his small emotional outburst.  
"What? Whatever does Bail have to do with... I had thought you meant we'd... but I guess Senator Amidala is expecting you... Well, all right. I suppose I... I should hurry along to the briefing. Enjoy your evening, old friend.”

Anakin stares at him in confusion, but the main two things that he registers is that Obi-Wan is not seeing Organa and that he is already turning his back.

“Wait,” he hurriedly says before the transport door closes. “Wait, Master. I mean, why would Padmé expect me? I haven’t even seen her for ages! And… after your pressing appointment with someone… are we still going out for dinner?”

“So you aren’t… “ Obi-Wan looks at him and then looks away, and Anakin can tell he is confused, too, but has not the slightest idea why. “If you wish so, of course, Anakin. By a pressing appointment, I meant dinner with you.”

“Well then…” Anakin’s mood soars, and through the glass door that now separates them he can see Obi-Wan’s fond amusement at his volatility, but he doesn’t care if his grin comes across as too stupidly happy.

“I’ll be in the hangar!” he shouts as the transport starts to move and Obi-Wan nods in agreement before disappearing from view.

Anakin winks at Artoo and walks to the Senate entrance, suddenly hopeful. There are politicians praising him for his heroics, but he is too distracted by the prospect of an evening with Obi-Wan to be paying much attention. He is not losing Obi-Wan, not this time, and Obi-Wan even seems to enjoy his company. Artoo makes a whistle which sounds like a droid equivalent of an eye roll, and Anakin claps his dome.

Anakin’s Delta is waiting for him just the way he left her in a hurry, when he and Obi-Wan were summoned by an emergency in the Outer Rim, the starboard console in the cockpit half-open and now covered with a layer of dust. Anakin brushes the dust off affectionately with his sleeve and settles in to finish the work, but soon he finds he can’t concentrate.

His thoughts are all over the place, jumping back to the rush of events on Grievous’s ship, filling him with anxiety and shame, and forward to the dinner with Obi-Wan, which makes him flutter with nerves for some reason he can’t understand. After all, he and Obi-Wan have had a thousand dinners together over the last thirteen years.

 _Stupid Windu is keeping Obi-Wan at the briefing for hours again._ Anakin huffs impatiently and glances at the chrono on the control panel. It’s only been fifteen standard minutes. He sighs and tries to find balance busying himself with the Delta’s console, murmuring words of endearment to his old girl.

Obi-Wan finally appears a couple of hours later, which felt like an eternity. “It’s about time,” grumbles Anakin, jumping down and walking to the other man. “I’m starving. Has it ever occurred to you that Windu might be a Sith lord?”

His attempt at joking falls flat, and Anakin is instantly alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

“I wouldn’t be talking so lightly about it now that this Sith lord appears to be a reality, Anakin.”

Anakin can tell from the crease in Obi-Wan’s forehead that his Master is troubled, but Obi-Wan’s expression softens the moment their eyes lock and he makes a strange movement with his hand. If Anakin didn’t know better he might have thought that Obi-Wan was going to brush hair off Anakin’s eye and then abruptly reconsidered.

“But you have just defeated one a few hours ago,” says Obi-Wan, his eyes shining now with wonder and pride. “Come on, let’s go celebrate.”

 _If you only knew how_ , thinks Anakin, suddenly feeling like an impostor. Like a worthless slave boy pretending in his childish game that he is the owner of the fastest starship. Shoulders slumped, he follows Obi-Wan to the landing platform.

It’s the night before the weekend and Dex’s diner is bustling with clients, but Dex finds them a booth in the corner, far from the door. There have been rumors of The Team being killed in the Outer Rim, and Dex is so happy to see his friends alive he gives each of them a crushing, multiple-armed hug, and the dinner is free. Things have been bad on Coruscant, he says. Everyone is tired of the war. But now that the Chancellor has been saved and the Republic’s beloved heroes are back, there will be hope again.

Anakin wishes there was no need to be war heroes, he wishes he and Obi-Wan could just go about Jedi business on some endless silly negotiations and he could wake up at night and know that Obi-Wan is safe. But he just smiles at Dex.

“It’s good to be back,” says Obi-Wan, and Anakin feels relieved, watching him eat Dex’s trademark fried tubers with his princely elegance. He can’t remember when he last saw Obi-Wan simply enjoying himself with no sense of impending doom. “Why aren’t you eating anything? You said you were starving.”

Anakin shrugs. “I guess I’m just not that hungry.”

“All right then,” Obi-Wan raises his glass, filled with Dex’s best ale. He is not smiling, but the warmth in his voice and his eyes makes it feel as though he is. “Let’s drink to you, Anakin. You saved the day.”

“Did I?” Anakin looks down at his hands without touching his glass. He can't pretend, not to Obi-Wan with his unwavering and completely unfounded faith in him.

“I killed Dooku when he was unarmed,” he says quietly. “So I… killed an unarmed prisoner.”

For a moment, Obi-Wan just stares at him, processing his words, and the ale spills over the rim as he puts his glass back on the table. No more smiling eyes, that deep worried frown which has become too familiar over the last few months appears again, and Anakin hates himself for causing it more than for the crime he has just confessed. Disappointing Obi-Wan, bringing him pain is one of his worst fears, and here it is coming true because of what he has done.

“You shouldn't have done that, Anakin. He deserved punishment for his crimes, but not like this,” Obi-Wan says in pained disbelief.

“I know,” Anakin says flatly. He has no excuses to offer, so he just looks away. The buzz of the diner seems far away now. They are again separated from the rest of the normal world.

“He had to be court-martialed!” There is an edge to Obi-Wan’s voice. “You can't take the law into your hands. You can’t do this to _yourself_ , Anakin, this is terribly wrong! You’re better than this!”

“This has nothing to do with justice or law!” Anakin’s temper flares in response to Obi-Wan’s agitation, quick like fire catching on dry wood. “I hated him because of what he’s done… because he nearly killed you!”

In a fit of agony he relives that horrific moment when he thought that Obi-Wan might have been crushed to death and clenches his metal hand into a fist.

“I don’t care about justice,” Anakin’s heart is beating in his throat. Obi-Wan will be appalled at what he is going to say, but there is no point in hiding the truth now that he’s already started to speak it. “I know I’m not the Jedi they all want me to be. But I’ll kill everyone who means you harm, Master. I’ll kill for you and I’ll die for you,” he says fiercely, locking his eyes with the other man’s.

“Oh.”

For some reason, this is all Obi-Wan says, and Anakin bites his lip in the unnerving silence, bracing himself for what his Master is going to say next. _You are such a lousy Jedi._ No, Obi-Wan will put it in a more graceful way of his. _How little respect you pay_ to _your training! I am so disappointed in you._

“I… would do the same for you, Anakin.”

Obi-Wan’s voice is very quiet but it shatters the silence between them like glass.

There is something vulnerable in his eyes, an emotion, a struggle, but he lowers his gaze before Anakin can read more. Anakin’s vision is blurred with hot tears and he blinks them back, not daring to believe the meaning of that confession.

“Do I… Do I really matter that much?” All of his fierceness is gone in a flash and his voice is trembling slightly as he speaks.

“Of course you do,” says Obi-Wan in the same quiet voice. “You always have.”

With a moment’s hesitation, Obi-Wan reaches out and squeezes Anakin’s real hand reassuringly, and Anakin lets out a shaky laugh, exhilarated and overwhelmed by Obi-Wan’s words and the warmth of his touch. He wishes Obi-Wan would hold his hand longer, he wishes he could cover it with his own and make it stay, but the other man snatches his hand away too soon, returning it to the safety of his glass, and looks up at Dex, who comes up to them to ask if they need anything.

“Thank you, Dex! I don’t think we need anything else… unless you want something?” Obi-Wan says, looking at Anakin, and Anakin just shakes his head. He has everything he needs right there, at the other side of the table.

“Your sliders and tubers are still the best in the galaxy,” continues Obi-Wan with a broad smile, and Anakin can tell Dex is genuinely pleased.

“Glad you still like them, old friend,” he claps Obi-Wan’s shoulder and winks at Anakin. “Did Obi-Wan tell you how he used to sneak out of the Temple at dawn to get here unnoticed and have them for breakfast with me?”

“I think… he mentioned something,” says Anakin, _because he’s_ bastard _of a Master never treated him properly_ , but he doesn’t say that out loud because Obi-Wan doesn’t know that he knows and Anakin would hate to embarrass him.

“Come on, Dex!” Obi-Wan laughs it off. “Teenagers are always hungry, believe me, I know this first-hand!” He wants to say something else, but his comm goes off and he quickly excuses himself with a concerned look, heading to the dark corridor, which leads from the booth to some storage area.

Anakin follows him with wary eyes, reaching out in the Force, but Dex distracts him, sitting down at Obi-Wan’s place and winking at him again.

“It’s good that Obi-Wan has you,” Dex says good-heartedly. “I’ve noticed he’s a different person with you. I’ve been watching all kinds of species for years, and I can tell you, you humans have that special look in the eye when you like someone. Obi-Wan really cares about you.”

“You think so?” Anakin can hear that he sounds more like a hopeful child than the hardened warrior that he is, and this would annoy him if being hopeful didn’t feel so good. “I really care about him, too, Dex.”

“Then,” Dex cracks a smile which looks simple and knowing at the same time, “I hope you didn’t forget to tell him.”

He rises and picks up an empty plate from the table. “These are dark times, my friend… As they say on my planet, each day of life is your last. Doesn’t sound very optimistic to me, but that’s how it is.”

Dex turns on his heel and heads into the kitchen, leaving behind a plate full of sweet cloudberries and a truth that shines to Anakin like a bright star.

When Obi-Wan returns ten minutes later, Anakin can sense worry radiating from him in waves. Anakin wants to ask him about everything, but discussing whatever secrets Obi-Wan has heard from Windu in public might attract unwanted attention and expose Obi-Wan to danger in the first place, so he just raises his eyebrows and whispers: “That bad?”

For a moment, Obi-Wan stares at him with an intensity which Anakin can’t explain to himself. It feels as if all of Obi-Wan’s thoughts and emotions at that moment are focused on him, and it makes Anakin’s heart glow despite the creeping anxiety. Then Obi-Wan snaps out of it, looks around and just shrugs. “With the war going on, everything is always bad.”

Anakin knows that he shouldn’t be asking questions right there, but his anxiety soars. “What is it? A new mission? Is anyone in danger? Is it about you? Are you in danger, Master?”

“No, Anakin, it isn’t about me,” The same spark of intense emotion returns to Obi-Wan’s eyes, and then he looks away. “But… we need to talk, Anakin. Probably not here. Do you have any other appointments tonight?”

“Only with my Delta. Is it on behalf of Windu?”

This time Obi-Wan doesn’t even correct him, which means things must be really bad. “No, Anakin, it’s on my behalf. How about we finish our meal and go back to the Temple?”

When the say their goodbyes and leave Dex’s diner a short time later, the night is warm and bright with the lights of the big city. In some districts, droids are collecting debris from the last night’s attack, but the rest of Coruscant seems to be bustling with life as if nothing happened. Anakin can feel the breeze on his face and the press of Obi-Wan’s elbow in the confined space of the speeder as he steers it through the lanes of traffic. This small contact makes him strangely exhilarated in spite of his nervousness at the unease he can sense from Obi-Wan.

“Will you tell me now?” he says as soon as they reach the Temple airspace at a distance from the main traffic. “No one can overhear.”

“Yes,” says Obi-Wan and Anakin is startled by the urgency in his voice. “Can you pull over here?”

Anakin complies, moving to the side of the lane and hovering half a click from the imposing building of the Temple. The sky is sprinkled with stars at the places where the planetary shields have been damaged in the attack, like a reminder of the vulnerability of this place, which has always seemed so solid and safe.

“Mace says the Chancellor wants to see you tomorrow.”

“What?” This is the last thing Anakin is expecting to hear. The Chancellor has wanted to see him hundreds of times over the years. “What’s so special about that?” he chuckles, but Obi-Wan’s expression chills him.

In the semi-darkness, there are shadows around Obi-Wan’s eyes, and he looks terrified and almost pleading. Anakin has never seen that look on his Master’s face before. Obi-Wan is fearless and never pleads with anyone, only negotiates to the advantage of the party he represents.

“Anakin. Please. Promise me you are not going to take any more Sith lords on your own,” he says imploringly and Anakin can sense the other man’s fear bleeding through, marring the luminous presence in the Force that is his Master.

Anakin blinks, confused. “What does it have to do with the Chancellor?”

For a brief moment, Obi-Wan looks at the Temple, then locks eyes with Anakin again and, despite himself, Anakin marvels at the depth of an unnamed feeling shining through.

“They think the Sith lord is somehow connected with the Chancellor. So the closer you are to the Chancellor, the higher the chances that you might face him. And he is much more powerful than Dooku. But you are _not_ facing him alone, Anakin, this is out of question.”

Obi-Wan is almost trembling, and this overwhelms Anakin much more than his words. He reaches out into the Force trying to sense what Obi-Wan is not telling. “But this is what Windu wants me to do, right? Because of the prophecy?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t reply, but Anakin feels he is moving in the right direction.

“And I bet he doesn’t give a fuck if I live or die as long as I fulfill their prophecy. After all, this is the only reason why they’ve tolerated me all this time, right?” Anakin says matter-of-factly because after all these years he wouldn’t be surprised in the least if that was true.

Obi-Wan freezes, and from the terror and pain screaming in the Force, Anakin can tell that he’s got everything right. But it’s not the prospect of dying at the hands of some mysterious Sith lord to the utter glee of Windu and the entire Jedi Order that makes Anakin’s breath catch in his throat and his heart explode with wild joy.

It’s because for the first time in his life he can see how much Obi-Wan really cares.

“Don’t worry, Master,” he laughs a little manically, not caring a bit how absurd his reaction may seem, and folds his arms across his chest defiantly. “I’ve never been keen on giving Windu what he wants.”

“Which in this case is very fortunate,” says Obi-Wan with the same intensity in his gaze. Anakin knows that this bravado should have earned him an angry scolding, and he is a little at a loss that this time it hasn’t. Instead he watches, transfixed, as Obi-Wan lifts his hand in the air, hesitating, and the skin on Anakin’s cheek tingles at the tentative touch. “You are far more important than any prophecy.”

Suddenly, their faces are very close and Anakin doesn’t dare to move and for a moment forgets how to breathe. _This can’t be happening, this is a trick of the Force,_ he tells himself, afraid to believe.

The next heartbeat, Obi-Wan lips are on his and his beard brushes softly against Anakin’s chin. This isn’t really a kiss, more a simple touch of lips, leaving a sweet taste in Anakin's mouth and his entire world shaken.

“I... am sorry,” Obi-Wan says a moment later, clearly overcome with panic at what he has done, but Anakin is having none of it.

Without thinking, he grabs Obi-Wan’s upper arms, as if afraid that the other man will jump out of the speeder to escape his own feelings, and Anakin’s voice is shaking as he pleads: “No, Master, please, don’t be sorry, don’t deny it, not now.”

“We shouldn’t…” Obi-Wan begins to say, and kisses him again instead.

Anakin has dreamed of it so many times, in hundreds of fantasies, in his room in the Temple, on the bridge of a ship, on the battlefield, in the Healer’s Wing delirious from his wounds, but he has never imagined the whirlwind of emotion behind this kiss, the fear and long-held yearning, or how Obi-Wan’s lips would really feel, firm, dry and very warm, moving against his.

It is slow, gentle and almost chaste until Anakin traces Obi-Wan’s bottom lip with his tongue, craving to taste more. Obi-Wan makes a strange small sound at the back of his throat, burying his hand in Anakin’s hair, and their tongues meet halfway. Anakin gasps is surprise, in wonder, and deepens the kiss, his mind totally blanking out.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan pulls back, and Anakin opens his eyes, hit by a wave of an emotional turmoil coming from the other man. “We have to stop. This is my fault. I shouldn’t … I should have taught you better than this, I’m sorry. Attachment is…”

“What keeps us alive!” says Anakin fiercely. “And you know this perfectly well, Master. Just look inside yourself.” Obi-Wan doesn’t answer, and Anakin cups his cheek softy with his real hand, loving the feel of Obi-Wan’s beard against his palm. “Please.”

Obi-Wan sighs and looks in the direction of the Temple, and Anakin follows his gaze. “I have lived all my life believing otherwise, Anakin,” says Obi-Wan quietly. “But the war is turning everything upside down. There is only one thing I am certain of,” he looks back at Anakin, his eyes wistful and gentle. “I want you to be safe and to live a long and fulfilled life past this war, and I will do everything to make it so.”

“I’ll take your word on it then, because my life doesn’t make much sense without you.” Saying these words is as easy as breathing, but Anakin can sense how much feeling they stir in Obi-Wan and how hard it is for him to cope. He strokes Obi-Wan’s cheek soothingly.

“When I was a child I learned very well that you can survive only when you care for someone and someone cares for you… like my mother and I did for each other. I learned that having… feelings… for somebody… doesn’t make you worse, it makes you stronger. I survived then because I loved my mother, and I survive now, every day, because I love… you.”

Anakin swallows hard, not quite believing that he has said that out loud and terrified that this has been too much, that this is not what Obi-Wan wanted to know, that he has misunderstood Obi-Wan’s affection and fear for Anakin’s life for something deeper, that the kiss was just a reaction to the never-ending stress of their lives, and the imaginary crowd of Obi-Wan’s lovers and admirers, headed by Organa, Vos and the Mandalorian Duchess, starts laughing viciously in his face, because Obi-Wan says nothing, just stares at him blankly.

Then, there is a shift in the Force, the tumbling down of a wall, and the bond Anakin still shares with his Master is flooded with Obi-Wan’s emotions as if they were Anakin’s own: fear, torment, self-doubt and the deepest, purest love that shines brighter than Tatooine’s suns.

Anakin wants to laugh and to cry and does both. This time he doesn’t notice who initiates it, but his arms are wrapped around Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan’s around him, and they are kissing each other almost frantically, exploring each other’s mouths, making up for all the lost time, Obi-Wan’s whiskers coarse and ticklish against Anakin’s lips, gusts of wind throwing Anakin’s hair in Obi-Wan’s face. The spires of the Temple are looming at the distance, but Anakin wants to forget about it. This is only theirs, and he will protect it with whatever it takes.

Anakin can’t even tell how much time has passed, when they finally leave the speeder at one of the landing platforms at the back entrance to the Temple. His heart is racing and his face is hot, even though the air has become much cooler after the night has fallen. But as they walk to the gaping entrance, open wide as if it’s waiting to swallow them, the heat starts seeping away from his body.

The giant figures of the legendary Jedi of the past look at them from high above, making Anakin’s footsteps quicken involuntarily. He wants to be alone with Obi-Wan, far from anyone and anything else, and Obi-Wan seems to share this wish because his pace quickens, too. They fall into step, silently walking in synchrony. They are halfway through the central corridor when a voice from behind catches Anakin off guard, the authority in it making him bristle inwardly.

“Obi-Wan.”

Anakin quickly turns around to see Windu right behind them, standing there with his arms crossed. Too caught up in the maelstrom of his emotions, Anakin hasn’t sensed him through the Force. Windu stares at Obi-Wan without even acknowledging Anakin’s presence, and Anakin smiles bitterly to himself – he has always suspected that he is more of a tool than a human being for the Jedi Council, no matter how often Obi-Wan has tried to persuade him otherwise. Now that it has come to the prospect of the final confrontation with the Sith, there is no doubt who was right.

“Have you briefed Skywalker about his new assignment?”

“Yes, Master, of course I have,” says Obi-Wan, and, to Anakin’s surprise, there is not a trace of the usual respectful cordiality in his voice, only some kind of a hollow, distant politeness. He could be talking to a Separatist leader at a negotiation in the same voice.

Windu narrows his eyes almost imperceptibly, and Anakin can sense he is slightly confused, taking in Obi-Wan’s strange tone, mussed hair and flushed face, but Anakin is certain the Jedi Master would never know what to make of it because he doesn’t even speak this language.

“I am well informed of everything,” says Anakin defiantly, lifting his chin and holding Windu’s gaze. A pause drags on and on, but he doesn’t add _Master_.

“Very well,” Windu eventually says, boring his dark eyes into Anakin’s. There is no regret or sympathy in them, only some kind of inhuman zeal and determination to sacrifice everything to the Republic. “We must all do our duty.”

“And we will, Master Windu,” says Obi-Wan in the same distant voice. “But if you will excuse us, it has been a long and eventful day.”

Windu nods gravely. “I will see you tomorrow at the Council session.”

Anakin doesn’t look back as he hurries after Obi-Wan. They almost run the remaining distance to their quarters.


	2. Chapter 2

The moment the doors close behind them, Anakin turns to Obi-Wan and they are again in each other’s arms, not quite kissing, but holding each other very close, foreheads touching. Anakin can feel Obi-Wan’s breath on his face, and the thrill of it sends shivers down his spine, but somehow it feels so natural Anakin wonders why in the Sith hell they have wasted so much time.

He hears Artoo whistle from his charging station by the window and mutters: “What’s to be so surprised about, buddy?”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “Do you mean we are getting commentary from your droid?”

“Don’t worry, he won’t tell anyone, Master,” Anakin laughs.

Obi-Wan runs his hand through Anakin’s hair, making Anakin’s eyelids flutter with pleasure at the gentle touch. All Anakin knows about his hair is that it’s messy and probably needs a cut, but Obi-Wan seems to have a different opinion about it, slowly carding his fingers again and again through his tangled strands. Anakin’s chest swells at the unspoken tenderness of that, and he pulls Obi-Wan even closer, resting his chin on the other man’s shoulder and briefly closing his eyes, anchoring himself for a moment in the sea of emotions that overwhelm him.

“I certainly trust your little droid,” whispers Obi-Wan soothingly, stroking his back. “He’s saved our lives many times, including today.”

Anakin’s thoughts briefly return to the events of the day, and he tightens his embrace instinctively, making sure his Master is with him, safe and sound. Obi-Wan twitches slightly in his arms and Anakin raises his head, suddenly alert.

“What is it, Master?” he says sharply, overtaken by the familiar panic, because he knows all too well that Obi-Wan has mastered the art of concealing his injuries to an outrageous perfection. “Are you hurt? Where? What happened? Do you need a healer? Why haven’t you told me?”

“Shhh, Anakin, I’m absolutely fine,” says Obi-Wan, tucking a stray piece of hair behind Anakin’s ear, but Anakin has heard enough _I’m absolutely fine’s_ in his life while carrying a semi-conscious Obi-Wan to the medbay to believe these words lightly.

“Let me see!” Anakin insists, and his words hang in the air, but Anakin is too worried to focus on the tension that now fills the room.

He switches the dimmed lights brighter, taking Obi-Wan’s hand and guiding him to the couch. Their quarters are the same mess as they were when they left them in a hurry, a forgotten pair of Anakin’s spare boots thrown casually in the middle of the common room and Obi-Wan’s teacup left at the edge of the low table, but Anakin couldn’t care less. He just kicks his old boots impatiently when they get in the way.

“Anakin,” says Obi-Wan gently, stopping before they reach the couch. “I assure you, it’s just a couple of minor bruises. We have more pressing matters to discuss.”

“Nothing is more pressing than your blatant disregard of your wellbeing, Master!”

“Tomorrow the Council we’ll be giving you’re the orders to report on the Chancellor,” Obi-Wan says with an infuriating urgency. “They are going to send you to him, and we need to think about your safety.”

 _If only he cared as much for himself once in a lifetime._ “Why the hell should we talk about my safety,” says Anakin in a heated voice, “when you don’t even care about yours!”

“All right,” says Obi-Wan with a dry laugh. “Fair enough.” He brings a hand to his belt, but doesn’t move. Neither does Anakin, frozen in place. This is nonsense, he’s checked on Obi-Wan many times, as well as Obi-Wan has on him, there’s nothing new in that. But his face gets very warm at the thought of touching Obi-Wan’s skin covered by the layers of tunics.

“Whatever,” Anakin says, looking away, still worried and inexplicably flustered.

Obi-Wan leans closer, trailing gentle fingers down his cheek, and pulls him into another kiss. It is slow and lingering at first, but then Obi-Wan’s hand slides to the back of Anakin’s head, tangling again in his hair, and the kiss becomes more intense, their tongues caressing each other. It feels both sweet and unexpectedly sensual. Anakin lets out an involuntary moan, unable to handle all the sensations brought by Obi-Wan’s tongue sliding against his, and feels a little shiver of thrill run through Obi-Wan at that sound.

They break away from the kiss and stare at each other. This close distance is completely new, Anakin can see every wrinkle around Obi-Wan’s eyes, every shade of dark and light in his irises, and he finds he can hardly speak, choked with emotions. “Are…” he starts and swallows. “Are you sure you’re okay, Master? ”

“I am… quite certain that your worries are completely unfounded,” says Obi-Wan in a low voice, and in his eyes Anakin can see the reflection of the same longing that makes his knees feel weak and his real hand tremble. “But to make you worry less…”

He steps back and undoes his belt and sash in one swift movement, then pulls his tunics over his head all at once and throws them to the side of the couch, turning his back to Anakin.

Anakin sucks in a breath, startled by both the gesture and the sight. There are several angry-looking bruises just above Obi-Wan’s waistline, which must have been caused by the collapsing structure, red and purple on his pale skin. For a moment, Anakin just stares at them, and at the familiar pattern of scars lining the middle of Obi-Wan’s back and his freckled shoulders. 

“I should have guessed earlier,” he mutters, bringing his left hand to hover just above the bruises, trying to sense in the Force if there is more damage beneath. “Why do you always have to be so stubborn, Master…”

“I told you it’s nothing,” says Obi-Wan lightly, without turning his head.

Reassured by the Force, Anakin fumbles in his pouch for a half-empty tube of bacta he’s been carrying around along with a selection of crumpled tea sachets he borrowed from Organa’s kitchen the last time they were invited for a party by left-wing Senators. The bacta is warm as he pours some of it on his fingers, and it smells familiar. This is something they’ve done countless times before, thinks Anakin, as he starts applying it lightly to Obi-Wan’s bruised skin. Yet Anakin can’t stop his heart from beating too fast, and his fingertips tingle at not-quite-touching Obi-Wan.

“Thank you,” says Obi-Wan very quietly when he finishes, and they are silent again, Anakin’s hand lingering a millimeter away from Obi-Wan’s waist. 

“It’s… going to feel better now,” Anakin bites his lip and can’t help tracing with his knuckles one of the scars he knows he’s been the cause of, a white line running across Obi-Wan’s shoulder blade. Obi-Wan leans into the touch, and Anakin opens his palm, stroking Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He wants to lean closer and kiss and taste the freckled skin between his Master’s shoulder blades, to wrap his arms around Obi-Wan’s naked torso and draw him impossibly close, but he doesn’t know what is the right thing to do.

Everything is happening so fast. A couple of hours ago they were talking at Dex’s and all that was just an insane dream, and Anakin’s fears fill his head despite his will. _What if Obi-Wan doesn’t really mean any of it? What if I’ve somehow coerced him into fulfilling my wild wishes, what if Obi-Wan is going to regret it, what if…_

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan turns around and places a firm hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “I’m afraid your train of thought has taken an entirely wrong direction. I… do mean all of this, and I… I…“ he stammers and looks away, clearly embarrassed with himself, and bites his lip nervously, as though bracing himself for some kind of trial. Then, a second later, he looks back at Anakin, and his voice is quiet but determined as he continues. “I’m merely doing what I have always wanted to, but never… dared to, or thought appropriate and right to do.”

“Always,” echoes Anakin, loving this word, and covers Obi-Wan’s hand with his own.

“Figuratively speaking,” says Obi-Wan with a glint of affectionate amusement in his eyes. “And I have never imagined that you might…”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed how much I…”

“No.”

Anakin is surprised, but he doesn’t question Obi-Wan’s complete honesty, sensing it crystal clear in the Force, seeing it in the blush creeping up Obi-Wan’s face above his beard and down his neck.

“I have been aware of your… friendship and devotion to me, Anakin, as I hope you have been aware of mine. But…”

A nervous laughter bubbles up on Anakin’s lips. “Wait a minute, are you saying that Artoo is more perceptive than you are?”

“What?” Obi-Wan’s eyes open impossibly wide, and they both reach out for each other, giddy and shaking with laughter. Obi-Wan is radiating warmth and Anakin is drawn to it like a freezing man to a fire, his hands roaming Obi-Wan’s back almost of their own will, careful not to touch the bruises. He can feel Obi-Wan’s ribs beneath his palm, and he knows that he is not in any better shape. Everything has been a luxury for the past few months, food, sleep, safety, rest, but none of it matters now.

“But now…” Anakin murmurs in Obi-Wan’s ear, touching it with his lips as he does so. “Do you have an idea of how I feel? What do you want me to do, Master? I would do anything. It’s just… Do you want us to stop…this? There’s still a lot of time… Or…”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sobers and there is no trace of laughter in his voice as he presses his forehead against Anakin’s. “Time might not be something we can afford. I want you to do…or not to do… whatever you wish.”

“I… want to be with you. I'm afraid to be without you. I want to feel you close to me,” says Anakin like in a dream, pressing his face to the crook of Obi-Wan's neck. He vaguely remembers how Padmé felt in his arms, thin and frighteningly fragile, in a cloud of intricate Nubian fragrances.

Obi-Wan is nothing like that, solid, broad-shouldered and strong, lean and muscled, and Anakin inhales deeply his familiar scent, a mixture of cinnamon Anakin has come to associate only with him, undoubtedly a mark of Stewjon royal blood, sweat and something else which is undefinable and only Obi-Wan. “I can’t bear wasting more time without you. Because you are right… because every day... can be the last.”

He kisses the warm skin his face has been pressed against, and feels Obi-Wan’s shuddering breath.

“If you are certain…” says Obi-Wan, and Anakin can barely recognize his voice, tight with emotion. In the Force, something snaps and shatters, and for a second Anakin is amazed by the amount of shields Obi-Wan has been building all this time, wondering how many more there are to break, but before he can say anything Obi-Wan is pulling him closer in an exchange of heated kisses, and his hands are everywhere, roaming Anakin’s back, stroking his shoulders, tangling in his hair, making Anakin want more.

Somehow they bridge the distance to the couch, Anakin landing half on top of Obi-Wan. Through the haze in his mind, he still remembers to ask: “Your back?”

“Forget about it,” whispers Obi-Wan, his eyes burning with something Anakin has never seen there, a yearning that leaves him entranced by its intensity. “Come here.”

Anakin kicks off his boots and straddles him, wrapping him in his arms, seeking more contact, more closeness. Frustrated with the amount of stupid clothing getting in the way, he tears off his belt and gasps feeling Obi-Wan’s hands under his tunics, firm, calloused palms running up and down his sides. Quickly, he shrugs off his tunics, tangling in a sleeve, and a huff of Obi-Wan’s laughter tickles his face as Obi-Wan helps him out of it, murmuring: “So impatient.”

Anakin wraps his arms around Obi-Wan and for a moment can’t breathe, drowning in the sensation of his bare skin against his Master’s. The sound that escapes him is half a moan, half a sob, and Obi-Wan stills his hands, holding him in a tight embrace, pressing his cheek to Anakin’s.

“Anakin,” he says, and Anakin has never thought his name could sound like such a beautiful and cherished word. He can feel the same tremors running through Obi-Wan’s body as the ones running through his own, and turns his face slightly to find the other man’s lips.

"I believe this, too, has to go,” says Obi-Wan, fumbling with the clasps of the glove covering Anakin’s metal hand.

Anakin snatches it away instinctively. “No,” he protests in half-strangled fear. Over the time, he has come to think of it as a functional deformity, a part of him which is a lethal weapon to his enemies, but he knows it is inhuman and ugly and he remembers too well Padmé being scared of it.

Obi-Wan stares at him intensely, searching his face, trying to figure out what’s going on, and there’s no hiding from his perceptive eyes.

“You wouldn’t like how cold it is,” offers Anakin lamely, but he knows how exposed he is in the Force, and that Obi-Wan now can read his mind.

“I do not care,” says Obi-Wan softly. “I want to… touch you, and it’s part of you. Will you let me?”

He doesn’t move, waiting for an answer, looking at Anakin with the same softness in his eyes as Anakin has heard in his voice. Anakin doesn’t trust himself to speak and only nods, his eyes very hot. Carefully, Obi-Wan undoes the remaining clasps and drops the glove to the floor. The metal is shining dully in the light of the room, an inanimate object between their bodies, but Anakin can sense no revulsion in Obi-Wan, only love pulsing in the Force like heartbeat and an old, deeply buried guilt. Obi-Wan entwines their fingers and brings the back of Anakin’s prosthetic hand to his lips, kissing it gently, and locking his eyes with Anakin’s.

“You are… very beautiful, Anakin,” he says and his voice is hoarse with emotion, and Anakin knows that probably Obi-Wan, too, doesn’t trust himself entirely to speak, but still does so because he’s the Negotiator and has always been good with words. “I hope that you know that.”

“I…” Anakin shrugs. “Okay.” He has always believed Obi-Wan and he finds no reason not to do so now. Obi-Wan smiles, letting go of his hand.

Tentatively, Anakin trails it down the juncture between Obi-Wan’s neck and his shoulder to his collarbone, and further down, pressing his open palm to Obi-Wan’s chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat beneath it. Suddenly he can’t remember the last time he felt so whole or so young. “If you say so, Master.”

“I certainly say so,” says Obi-Wan, brushing back a lock of hair which has fallen across Anakin’s eye, and Anakin laughs, liberated, dizzy, falling head first into Obi-Wan’s eyes, into his arms, into the love that has been so long denied and all of a sudden offered to him like the most precious gift of the Force.

Anakin has imagined many times what it would be like to run his hands and his lips along Obi-Wan’s chest when he was staring at his Master during a sparring session, which inevitably led to him getting distracted and ending up defeated, with the tip of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber pointing at his neck and a mischievous glint in his Master’s eyes. Now that he’s finally doing it, it’s far beyond his fantasies.

Emboldened by their bond which is whispering to him that he is welcome to do anything, he trails kisses down Obi-Wan’s chest as far as he can reach from his straddling position. Obi-Wan’s skin is slightly salty, smooth in some places and scarred in others, and every small sound that escapes Obi-Wan, every gasp and sigh makes up twice for each of Anakin’s past defeats. It’s surprisingly easy to attune himself to Obi-Wan’s sensations in the Force, or probably not surprisingly at all, and Anakin takes his time, elated by his exploration.

Obi-Wan is trembling slightly under his assault, his hands going from Anakin’s shoulders and back to his thighs in a frantic caress, briefly staying on his butt. The fleeting touch shoots though Anakin like electricity and he shifts closer, pressing their bodies together. His eyes closed and lips half-open, Obi-Wan arches his head backwards, disheveled bangs falling on his forehead, with his hands resting firm and strong just above Anakin’s knees.

Looking at him, Anakin is overcome with desire that burns inside him like white-hot suns of an undiscovered planetary system. “Master,” he breathes, placing kisses, hungry and wet, on Obi-Wan’s exposed neck and slides his hands down Obi-Wan’s sides just beneath the edge of his pants. _“Please…”_

He has no idea what he is going to say, but Obi-Wan understands him, reaching behind Anakin to take off his boots, and Anakin tears at them with delight, cursing the laces under his breath. Obi-Wan slides further down along the couch until he is practically lying on his back, bringing Anakin on top of him. The couch is too short and Obi-Wan has to bend his knees, and Anakin doesn’t know what to do with his own long legs, scrambling for space and balance.

“A bed…” murmurs Obi-Wan, steadying Anakin, holding his hips, “might be a better idea…”

Anakin nods enthusiastically, but doesn’t move away, reluctant to break the contact even for a second.

“Yours might be strewn with hydrospanners and bolts,” continues Obi-Wan with a small chuckle, stroking Anakin’s skin with his thumbs. “Mine… could be a safer place.”

“For _once_ you are concerned with safety?” says Anakin in a shaky voice as Obi-Wan runs a hand over his stomach. “Okay… Now that I get the idea of which situations can make you cautious… I may be tempted to repeat it all over again.”

“Tempted… is an appropriate word,” agrees Obi-Wan in a heated voice, nudging him off the couch. 

It takes them three long and thorough kisses, and a dozen of unsteady steps, to get to Obi-Wan’s room, cool and dark after the brightly lit common room. Here everything is in perfect order despite their rushed departure, but Anakin is not surprised in the least. Suddenly, he is nervous, and his stomach is tied in knots with anticipation. Obi-Wan must sense it because he stops before they reach the bed, cupping Anakin’s face with both his hands.

“Anakin,” he says, and his tone is completely different now, tender and soothing. “Are you certain that… We don’t have to rush anything. Or do anything at all until you are certain that… ”

“I am more than certain,” says Anakin quickly, overcoming his nervousness because he doesn’t want it to become contagious or worse, to make Obi-Wan change his mind. “It’s just… You have no idea how many times I have dreamed of this, and now…”

“Oh,” says Obi-Wan, and despite the semi-darkness Anakin can see him blush. “Am I not a bit too old and boring to be an object of your dreams?” he adds with a small laugh, but the attempt at humor doesn’t fool Anakin.

He can sense a deeply rooted self-doubt, an old crippling fear to never be good enough, which is always there no matter how hard Obi-Wan tries to hide it from everyone including himself. It infuriates Anakin, makes him want to punch the wall or, better, the faces of everyone responsible for it, but instead of it he just wraps Obi-Wan in his arms, opening himself in the Force, letting Obi-Wan see through Anakin’s eyes and feel with his heart. 

“Can you sense it,” he whispers fiercely against Obi-Wan’s lips. “Can you feel how much I need you and… _want_ you? How much I _always_ have? How… _perfect_ you are to me?”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and shudders in his arms. “Yes… _Yes,_ ” he breathes, joining their lips in a kiss, and the passion that explodes, smashing yet another line of Obi-Wan’s defenses, leaves Anakin breathless. Together they tumble on the bed, Anakin first tugging Obi-Wan with him.

Everything smells of Obi-Wan here, and it makes Anakin shut his eyes and want to drown in the moment. He has spent so many hours sitting on the edge of this bed, crying on Obi-Wan’s shoulder when he was a child, watching over his injured Master after the war started, praying the Force for him to be all right, and there Obi-Wan is, very much safe and sound, and everything that’s happening is beyond his wildest dreams.

He pulls his Master on top, aligning their bodies together, loving the weight of Obi-Wan on him, the warmth of Obi-Wan’s skin under his restless hands, the cinnamony taste of Obi-Wan’s mouth on his tongue. Anakin has shared his bed with someone else before, but it never felt like this, so intimate and intense, bringing tears to his eyes and making him burn with desire at the same time.

“Are you… all right?” whispers Obi-Wan, moving to lie on his side very close to Anakin and propping himself up on an elbow, and Anakin can see in his eyes that he is shaken, too, by everything they make each other feel.

“Yeah... ” says Anakin and wants to laugh but finds he can’t and runs a shaking hand down his face to compose himself. “You have no idea…”

“What if I do?” breathes Obi-Wan, stroking Anakin’s chest, and Anakin can hear a slight catch in his voice that makes his own face grow hot. Obi-Wan watches him with some kind of reverence that Anakin knows he doesn’t deserve. After all, he’s just a desert slave boy who was lucky enough to cross his paths with the most amazing person in the galaxy.

“I beg to differ,” says Obi-Wan softly, and Anakin knows he’s been projecting his thoughts yet again, but he doesn’t care. “It’s you… who are amazing.”

Obi-Wan leans in, trailing slow kisses where his hand has been, and Anakin trembles, tries to hold back at first and moans, surrendering to the sensations. Obi-Wan’s mouth is hot and insistent and his beard is soft and ticklish, and deep down Anakin can’t believe that it’s true, that he’s lying half-naked in Obi-Wan’s bed and in Obi-Wan’s arms, that it’s not a comforting vision of the merciful Force, and Obi-Wan is not going to disappear any moment.

“Are you… is this all… _real_?” Anakin marvels, burying his hand in Obi-Wan’s hair. It’s smooth and silky, and very soft in contrast with his coarse whiskers, and Anakin loves the feel of it against his fingers.

“I don’t know,” replies Obi-Wan, and Anakin can see him smile in the Force without opening his eyes. “Seems quite real to me.”

Anakin gasps feeling the other man’s warm breath followed by a wet touch of his tongue just above his navel. This slow torture is more than he can take and he grabs Obi-Wan’s shoulders impatiently, bringing him closer for a passionate kiss, rolling them over and pinning Obi-Wan underneath. This is how it should be, how it should always have been, and now that he finally has this, he knows he won’t be able to let go and stop.

“You…” he breaks away from a kiss, gasping for air, and stares into Obi-Wan’s eyes, darkened with a desire Anakin has never expected to be directed back at him. “… are mine, Master. And I am yours.”

“This sounds… a bit possessive to me…” says Obi-Wan and swallows, shifting his eyes.

 _Oh right_ , Anakin despairs, and in his mind’s eye he can see Organa and company point a mocking finger at him, but before he can berate himself for his foolishness, Obi-Wan blushes and his voice is unsteady as he adds: “But I can’t deny the truth behind your words.”

Anakin can't help breaking into a triumphant grin and sticking out his tongue at the imaginary Organa, exhilarated and relieved by Obi-Wan's words, never doubting the other man's sincerity. His head is spinning at the wild riot of emotions roiling in the Force, the maddening mixture of an almost desperate yearning, a long-held, long-denied need and a pure, deep love that takes his breath away.

Instinctively, he pushes a leg between Obi-Wan's thighs, bringing their lower bodies together, and Obi-Wan groans and raises his hips, arching his back. Anakin can feel Obi-Wan’s arousal pressing into Anakin's belly next to his own, and the sensation shoots through him fast and intense like a bolt of Sith lightning, but it unleashes a blinding desire instead of pain. Anakin has never wanted anything or anyone as much or felt so wanted.

“I’m glad,” Anakin chuckles breathlessly, “that there’s finally something you can’t deny, Master.”

He aims it to sound cheeky, but it cuts deeper than he was expecting, and Obi-Wan’s eyes fly open, a familiar self-doubt and guilt passing there like a shadow.

“You are right, Anakin…” he admits, and Anakin’s heart clenches at the defeated look on his Master’s face. “But I’m not going to deny any more how much you mean to me, how much I… need you.”

“How much you _always_ have?” Anakin teases, tender and playful, wanting to chase all the shadows away, and Obi-Wan rolls his eyes.

“It’s hyperbole, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, pressing both hands to Anakin’s ass.

Anakin bites his lip and moans at the feel of Obi-Wan’s hands, warm and strong, at the closer contact between their bodies, and most of all, at the streak of possessiveness he can sense in the gesture.

“I like… this hyperbole,” he whispers into Obi-Wan’s ear, brushing it with his lips and grazing it with his teeth. “Can we have more hyperboles then? With… probably… less clothes on?”

Obi-Wan lets out a laugh and slips his hands beneath the fabric, cupping and lightly stroking Anakin’s butt. Anakin hisses, catching Obi-Wan’s lips in a hungry kiss, swirling his tongue around the other man’s, biting his lower lip with impatience. His mind is foggy, all he knows is he is desperate for more and he can tell so is Obi-Wan.

Not breaking away from the kiss, Anakin moves to lie on his side, sliding his hand between their bodies to cover Obi-Wan’s erection with his open palm, loving the semi-growl, semi-moan that Obi-Wan lets out into the kiss. A part of him doesn’t quite believe that he’s really doing it as he fumbles with laces of Obi-Wan’s pants and growls with frustration when he only gets them tangled.

But Anakin forgets about everything the moment Obi-Wan swiftly undoes Anakin’s own clothing and takes him in hand, tentatively at first, then tightening his hold at the sound that Anakin makes. 

“We can have any figure of speech you like…” growls Obi-Wan playfully, running his fingers up and down Anakin’s length as if in exploration, and Anakin is amazed at the teasing, heated tone of his voice. He has heard Obi-Wan speak in many ways, but never like this, and it turns him on even more.

Anakin watches in disbelief his proper and highly civilized Master stroke him up and down, Obi-Wan’s face flushed, lips swollen from their kisses and tangled hair hanging down across his face. But it’s not the sight that gets to Anakin, it’s the expression in Obi-Wan’s eyes when they look at each other – open, loving and almost awed. Anakin isn’t sure at all he is capable of coherent speech, but he can’t get enough of being loved by Obi-Wan or of hearing Obi-Wan speak of his feelings to him in that heartfelt, self-conscious way as though he wasn’t the famed Negotiator. As his head falls back on the pillow and his eyelids flutter with pleasure, Anakin can’t help but ask: “So… how long is… _always_?”

“I… am not sure?” says Obi-Wan elusively, sitting up and pulling at Anakin’s pants, and Anakin lifts his hips, letting him push them further down. “A couple of years or so… perhaps,” adds Obi-Wan without meeting Anakin’s eyes.

“And… a couple doesn’t mean two, does it?” Anakin writhes a little at Obi-Wan’s light touches to his now exposed thighs and bends his knees. He is trembling and almost out of breath, but he doesn’t know what he craves more – to grab Obi-Wan, pull him in a crushing embrace and tear away his remaining clothes, or to hear him speak of his love for Anakin.

“No,” says Obi-Wan in a low voice. “It does not mean two.”

“How many then?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t answer, circling a spot in the middle of Anakin’s inner thigh, and Anakin suddenly becomes aware of what it is, which makes him blush more than Obi-Wan’s entire exploration of his body.

“When did you get this?” Obi-Wan masterfully changes the subject, seemingly relieved to escape from Anakin’s persistent questioning. “I’ve been wondering, ever since I had to carry you from that… place. After that business. On Ryloth.”

 _So that’s when Obi-Wan saw it._ Anakin doesn’t remember very well everything that happened after he got hit by debris in an explosion, but Rex has told him something about bleeding almost to death, and he can tell Obi-Wan is reluctant even to pronounce the name of the planet. Anakin clears his throat, staring at the small tattoo appearing beneath Obi-Wan’s thumb as he drags it down.

“Ah, that,” Anakin says lightly. “On Corellia, when I was deployed there and you were halfway across the galaxy. After a battle, the clones went to the city for a drink and I went with them. Then they went to the tattoo parlor. They… wanted to get the names of their _sweethearts_ , as they call them, mostly holonet stars. I had nothing better to do and I was drunk. So…I, uh… ended up with one, too.”

Anakin remembers briefly the cold, the misery, the bitter taste of strong alcohol, but most of all, Obi-Wan’s absence, sharp and merciless like a primitive knife, and shivers involuntarily.

“I see…” says Obi-Wan, gently curious, and places a warm kiss on Anakin’s knee, bringing him back to reality. “What’s written here?”

“It’s just…um… some letters in Huttese.”

“I thought so… How do you pronounce it? Does it mean anything?”

Anakin briefly looks at the ceiling. He doesn’t know why in the Sith hell he has to be embarrassed about a kriffing tattoo while he’s lying there almost naked, but he is.

“Kind of,” he says nervously. “The first letter is the Huttese equivalent of _Osk_ , the second is _Besh_ and the third is just a number, _One_.” 

_OB1._ He told the girl who made it that it was the model of his favorite racing pod. She’d said he had pretty lips and wanted to sleep with him, but he thanked her, shook his head and wandered back alone to his bunk with the troops.

Anakin watches Obi-Wan’s eyes widen a little as the meaning sinks in.

“I just… missed you,” Anakin adds, suddenly shy. “I don’t want to be without you again, Ma… Obi-Wan.”

“Neither do I,” whispers Obi-Wan and kisses the tattoo, tongue flickering out to swipe along the letters. He looks back at Anakin, his eyes still wide and vulnerable with emotion. “And we don’t have to be, we will be together, in everything, Anakin.”

“Then…” Anakin licks his lips. “Can we be even more… together than we are now?”

“That is my wish, too,” says Obi-Wan again in that tone Anakin has never heard him speak before. Anakin knows that he is going to get addicted to that voice very soon or probably already has.

Obi-Wan lies back from his sitting position, one hand quickly finding its way to tangle in Anakin’s hair, as if it has already become a habit of his, and stretches on his side, their bodies touching from head to toe, kissing and stroking Anakin again, quickly finding a rhythm that makes Anakin writhe and want to lose himself in the sensations.

But the moment Anakin’s eyes fall shut he opens them again, because, oh merciful Force, it is _Obi-Wan_ who’s doing this, and Anakin is unable to look away from him. Anakin touches the soft hairs on Obi-Wan’s abdomen, dragging his real hand lower, palming him and enjoying how it makes Obi-Wan tremble. He is craving to touch, to explore, to fulfill all of the other man’s desires hidden in the depths beneath the remaining defenses and shields, and Anakin’s heart is singing because he knows that from now on he will be able to do it, while impatience thrums under his skin because he can’t wait to.

“Can I…” he whispers eagerly, trying again to undo Obi-Wan’s pants to no avail. He tears at them then, but the laces won’t yield and the knot only becomes worse. “Kriff, that’s not fair!”

“In every situation there has to be… something you’d find _not fair_ , I assume,” says Obi-Wan with a small laugh, pulling back slightly, and untangles the knot without much difficulty.

Immediately, Anakin frees his cock and closes his hand around it. Obi-Wan’s laughter turns into a groan which sounds delightfully uncivilized to Anakin’s ears, and Anakin grunts, too, at the feel of the hot hardness in his hand. He runs his fingers along it, pulls first gently, then harder, watching for Obi-Wan’s reaction. He can’t help staring, trying to remember everything, the way Obi-Wan’s lips are parted and his breath is coming out hot and fast, the light sheen of sweat making his bangs stick to his forehead, and the expression of pleasure Anakin has never seen there, making Obi-Wan look beautiful and very young. He thinks of all the nights he spent getting himself off imagining Obi-Wan, wondering if it went both ways, and deep down, he knows the answer.

They start rocking slowly against each other, in an exchange of heated kisses and caresses, Anakin hungry to touch and taste every bit of skin he can reach, Obi-Wan’s hands and lips everywhere, but none of it seems enough to satisfy Anakin’s thirst for more contact, more of Obi-Wan, more of them together. He pushes his pants lower and wriggles out of them, tugging at Obi-Wan’s pants to undress him, too, until they both are lying naked in a tangle of limbs, and Anakin is shivering and straining with the need for more.

Anakin’s mind is hazy, but he knows what he wants, what he’s wanted since that mission to Jakku when he was sixteen, the images of Obi-Wan from that day still as sharp and clear flooding his vision.

“Master…” Anakin coaxes, trailing his tongue along Obi-Wan’s bottom lip. “Make love to me.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes fly open at that and from his sharp intake of breath, from the way his pupils dilate momentarily, Anakin can tell how much the other man wants this, too, and his heart skips a beat with excitement. But a moment later Obi-Wan is pulling back in a flash of something that looks like panic.

“We… still have a lot of time, Anakin,” Obi-Wan offers lamely, and the storm in his eyes draws Anakin into them, mesmerized. “We… don’t have to rush anything.”

Anakin’s mind suddenly snaps out of its pleasurable daze, reality breaking in and making him shiver now with cold, not with anticipation. He remembers Dooku, intent to take Obi-Wan from him hours ago, and Windu, who can’t wait to send Anakin to his death. He thinks of what’s happening right now in so many places of the galaxy, millions of voices screaming out in terror in the Force, and has to squeeze his eyes closed for a moment to shut the chaos out of his mind.

“Do we?” he says fiercely, propping himself up on an elbow and staring down at Obi-Wan. “You’ve said yourself that _time_ is a luxury we can’t afford.”

“I might be wrong,” Obi-Wan replies with a gentle insistence, stroking Anakin’s cheek with his thumb, pulling him back into his arms. Anakin complies, burying his face in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck for a moment to ground himself, and trails his tongue along the tender skin, eliciting a ragged breath from his Master. He senses Obi-Wan’s desire blazing white hot in the Force between them, but he can’t tell what is holding the other man back. He suddenly remembers Dex and his simple, undeniable wisdom.

“Do you know what people on some planets say?” he whispers and finds Obi-Wan’s hand, entwining their fingers. “‘Each day of your life is your last’. Don’t make me wait. Please.”

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan turns his head slightly away, clasping Anakin’s hand, worries and fears roiling around him like a pesky swarm of insects that Anakin is intent to chase away. “First of all, are you… certain that this is what you want?”

“Am I certain?” Anakin says, incredulous, and smiles broadly in relief – if that is what’s bothering Obi-Wan, he sure as Sith hell has an answer. “Master, I have dreamed of this for years! For seven years, three months and… twenty-two days, to be more exact.”

“ _What_? You _cannot_ be serious!” Obi-Wan’s expression goes from conflicted to completely mortified in a split second, and his voice rises to a panicked pitch. “For Force’s sake, Anakin! You were a _child_ seven years ago!”

Anakin knows he shouldn’t be amused at that, but all he can do is throw his head back and laugh. “I was sixteen, Obi-Wan! People normally get married at this age on Tatooine. And that’s not the earliest they do.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, totally unconvinced and probably already starting to take all the blame and thinking of himself as a child molester, which is the last thing Anakin wants.

“Kriff, Master… Obi-Wan!” he says, cupping Obi-Wan’s jaw and making the other man look at him. “We are _equals_ , you said it yourself many times! I'm no longer a child entrusted in your care. I'm a full-grown man, in case you haven't noticed.”

He presses closer to make a point, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan’s lower back, their cocks touching and rubbing against each other in a tantalizingly delicious torture.

“I… am aware…” stutters Obi-Wan, kissing and sucking hungrily at the soft skin on Anakin's neck, and Anakin grins with delight because this is definitely going to leave a mark. “And… I am… quite impressed by your… sense of precision.”

“It was your birthday,” Anakin remembers dreamily, burying his nose in the hollow of Obi-Wan’s collarbone and inhaling deeply. “That's why it’s not hard to calculate. You didn’t celebrate it back then, of course… Anyway, we were on that mission to Jakku and you got terribly sunburned, remember? Here…” he kisses and licks a spot on Obi-Wan's shoulder. “And on your back and shoulder blades… You asked me to apply some sun lotion to your burns.”

Anakin remembers it as if it was yesterday, in the slightest detail, even the tilt of Obi-Wan's head and the way he lowered it and his then-longish hair fell from his neck. He can see in his memory the play of shadows across Obi-Wan’s back, far less scarred than it is now, the bittersweet smell of the lotion, sticky on his fingers, and the lightning strike of the realization that he’s in love with this man, his Master, perfect and unattainable, that he loves him to death and that this heartache will never go away. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes widen at Anakin’s words, and he shakes his head in some kind of awed disbelief.

“Do you mean… all these years?” he says unsteadily and wraps Anakin tightly in his arms, nuzzling his hair. Anakin can tell he's gaining ground, but the battle is not won yet.

“What if… you don't like it?” asks Obi-Wan anxiously, finally starting to voice his fears, much to Anakin’s relief. “What if it's not what you’ve wanted all this time? Do you have any idea… I mean… have you ever been with a… man?” he adds in whisper that Anakin can hardly hear at all.

“Of course not! Why would I?” Anakin angles his head to throw an incredulous glance at Obi-Wan, and before his Master gets him wrong, hastily adds, “The only man I've _ever_ wanted is you. And, uh, this option has been kind of unavailable. I had a thing with Padmé though, when the war started, but it’s long over…” Anakin has no idea why he has just brought Padmé into this and winces, mentally cursing himself. “Master,” he says imploringly, grasping Obi-Wan’s arms. “All that is beside the point. The point is I love you and I want only you.”

Obi-Wan freezes for a moment, just staring at him, as though he doesn’t know how to cope with the wild swirl of emotions stirred by Anakin’s confession, and Anakin eases his frantic hold, stroking Obi-Wan’s skin soothingly with the thumb of his real hand.

“I mean… Are you okay with that?”

Still unable to speak, Obi-Wan just nods, biting his lip, and traces Anakin’s eyebrow, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear in a loving and tender gesture.

“What if… I hurt you?” he says after a silence, his voice hoarse with emotion, and Anakin can sense that this is it, the fear for him overriding everything else.

“You won’t,” Anakin replies without the slightest hesitation. “You never have. But if it helps…” Anakin opens himself fully in the Force, letting all of his feelings and sensations wash over Obi-Wan like a powerful wave. “Surely… like _this…_ you’ll sense if anything’s wrong?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t answer at first, overwhelmed, and closes his eyes. “All right,” he says a moment later and lets out a breath he’s been holding. The rough tremor in his voice sends a thrill through Anakin, making his heart race, almost jumping out of his chest. “As long as you are certain this…with me…that this is what you want… all right.”

“I do,” says Anakin, and it strangely feels like professing his love on the stone steps inside the temple of the Desert Goddess, like he’s seen other slaves do at weddings back on Tatooine. He knows that with all of his shields lowered down he is exposed to Obi-Wan completely, but it doesn’t bother him and he is not afraid to appear anything that Obi-Wan might not expect him to be. He has never felt so safe with anyone or so accepted, and he wants Obi-Wan to know that.

“Oh Anakin,” says Obi-Wan softly. “I have wanted this… you… so much, and I…” he struggles for words and Anakin watches curiously as his lips are moving, but at first not a sound comes out. “I lo… I love you, too.”

It’s one thing to know it, it’s a completely different thing to hear Obi-Wan say it out loud in a croaked and almost shy whisper, and Anakin’s vision swims with tears that he can’t and doesn’t want to hold back.

“I know,” Anakin says with a tremulous smile, and Obi-Wan’s expression mirrors his own.

“Come here then,” whispers Obi-Wan, pulling him into a kiss, fervent, adoring and wonderfully possessive.

Anakin can sense with delight that most of his Master’s reservations are gone, and he melts, breathless with anticipation, into Obi-Wan’s touch, into his strong hands roaming Anakin’s back and ass. He rocks his hips slightly and moans shamelessly into Obi-Wan’s mouth at the feel of their cocks sliding against each other, wrapping a leg around Obi-Wan, sucking at the sensitive skin at the base of his neck, making sure he, too, has left a mark, because Obi-Wan is his and he is Obi-Wan’s, just as they have agreed.

Obi-Wan’s hand cups his balls, making Anakin suck in a sharp breath, and moves up, dragging along the cleft of his butt, and Anakin shivers. Quite a few of his old fantasies rush to his mind and he can’t help sending the images naughtily into the Force, grinning at the powerful shudder coming from the other man.

“See?” Anakin teases, “There’s quite _a lot_ to distract us from Windu and his evil plans...hmm?” He grinds his hips for more emphasis, rewarded by a throaty moan from his Master.

“I… ap-preciate your imagination,” Obi-Wan stutters, “but this time... we do it _my_ way.”

“Yes, Master,” Anakin laughs happily, while his heart leaps up at these words because Obi-Wan’s just implied there will be _other times._ “Come on…your way, my way…kriff, let’s do it _any way._ What are we waiting for?” He’s tempted to ask if Obi-Wan, too, has been imagining their first time together and how exactly, but he is too busy being impatient. “Haven’t we lost enough enough time already?”

 _"Anakin.”_ Obi-Wan’s hand lingers on his butt, one of his fingertips hovering just above Anakin’s entrance. “I understand that it’s like asking a rancor to become a dove,” he says dryly, “but you have to be… patient.” His smirk dissolves into a frown as he raises up on an elbow to scan the room. 

“What are you… oh, yeah. On the table in the common room...or probably on the floor,” says Anakin quickly, totally unconvinced by Obi-Wan’s new figure of speech. “Do you want Artoo to fetch it for us?”

“Absolutely not!” There is a combination of mild terror and affectionate annoyance in Obi-Wan’s voice, and Anakin knows he’ll probably never get enough of teasing his Master. Obi-Wan closes his eyes in concentration, searching through the Force, and the half-empty tube of bacta Anakin never cared to close earlier flies in through the doorway and into Obi-Wan’s hand.

Anakin remembers briefly how many times he has been told off for using the Force _in an inappropriate way_ and chuckles to himself. “Don’t worry, I’m not telling Windu.”

Obi-Wan gives him a serious look, not affected by his humor this time. “If you change your mind…”

“Don’t you trust me as I trust you, Master?” says Anakin. Obi-Wan exhales slowly, letting go of the last of his objections, and claims Anakin’s mouth in hungry and messy kiss. His hand slides into Anakin’s hair, caressing the back of his head, while the other hand starts fondling him in a maddening way that makes Anakin whimper incoherently.

He might come right here and now from Obi-Wan’s touches and his insistent tongue in his mouth, but at that moment Obi-Wan moves back and Anakin lets out a whine. His nostrils flare at the smell of bacta, a scent associated mostly with pain, either his, Obi-Wan’s or someone else’s, and never with pleasure, but all these associations dissolve into oblivion when Obi-Wan presses a fingertip, warm and wet, to his entrance, and lingers there.

“Yes…” he cajoles, licking and biting encouragingly at the skin on Obi-Wan's shoulder. “Come on…”

Obi-Wan’s chest moves with a small nervous chuckle. “And by being _patient_ I meant…”

“Kriff it, Master…”

Obi-Wan pushes slightly in, slow and cautious, and Anakin relaxes into the touch. It could be overly intrusive, but it just feels very intimate, and Anakin knows he would never share this with anyone else but Obi-Wan. He moans and writhes a little as Obi-Wan rubs him gently, stretching him and sliding further.

“It’s okay, I’m fine, you don’t have to worry…” he breathes between frantic kisses, and Obi-Wan complies, slowly sliding his finger in and out and watching Anakin closely. Anakin presses their foreheads together, holding Obi-Wan in a tight embrace, staring into his eyes, and somehow it feels even more intimate, as if in the Force they are two beings merging into one. Obi-Wan’s breath hitches and he stops, and Anakin blinks in confusion.

“You… should see yourself in the Force,” whispers Obi-Wan with awe. “You’re glowing.”

Anakin has no idea how the other man is seeing him and he just smiles a little, self-conscious. “She’s just showing you how I feel, and that things can get even better.”

“So is the Force your accomplice?” Obi-Wan arches an eyebrow, and Anakin can’t help but place a small kiss there with a cocksure grin. 

“That’s why I always get what I want.”

“Apparently so,” says Obi-Wan with a sparkle of gentle amusement in his eyes and resumes his careful ministrations, all too slow by Anakin’s standards. But there’s nothing he can do about that, and instead of feeling frustrated, Anakin revels in Obi-Wan’s care, placing needy kisses along the other man’s neck and jaw. At some point, Obi-Wan curls his fingertip, brushing it against something, sending sparks of unexpected pleasure through Anakin, making him cry out.

“Are you all right? Do you need me to stop?” whispers Obi-Wan in his ear, concerned.

“For Force’s sake, Master!” Anakin pants. “Don’t stop!”

Obi-Wan complies, rubbing that spot again, and Anakin trembles and pants with the sweetness and intensity of the sensation. When Obi-Wan adds another finger, all he can do is moan incoherently.

“Let’s turn you over, all right?” coaxes Obi-Wan, and even the sound of his voice seems to be sending pleasure through Anakin. He moves in a haze to where Obi-Wan is guiding him, until he’s practically lying on his stomach and Obi-Wan is trailing kisses along his spine, tickling Anakin's skin with his beard, and stroking his butt. Bacta is warm on his sensitive skin as Obi-Wan adds more of it, but Anakin can't help small tremors running through his body. He loses himself in Obi-Wan's touches and the effervescent glow of the Force around them until he isn't sure he can take it any more.

“Master…” he pleads, desperate and needy. “I've been patient enough… I _need_ you. Please.”

Obi-Wan grows very still and Anakin can tell that he, too, is on edge with urgency and need. Anakin is ready for another series of _are you certain’s_ but Obi-Wan just swallows.

“Very well,” he relents, briefly pressing a kiss to Anakin’s neck. “Just... don’t rush anything, please? Will you listen to me once in your lifetime?”

“Haven’t I been the most obedient Padawan in the history of the Jedi Ord…”

As Obi-Wan moves up behind him, Anakin angles his head over his shoulder to look at him, and the words get stuck in his throat at the sight of his Master outlined against the window, lean, broad-shouldered and perfect, staring down over Anakin with a blazing mixture of desire and devotion. Bacta smells sharp to his heightened senses, and Anakin bites his lip and holds his breath.

“Just… breathe,” says Obi-Wan, and Anakin obeys.

Obi-Wan is slow and gentle, stilling himself after each small thrust of his hips, and despite the stretch and burn, Anakin feels as if he is floating on the waves of an endless ocean of tenderness, love and trust, almost in disbelief that this is finally happening. He reaches out in the Force as he reaches behind for Obi-Wan, and the other man squeezes his hand, entwining their fingers and their Force signatures at once. Anakin doesn’t trust himself to speak, and this time neither does Obi-Wan, and even the Force is silent as they hold each other impossibly close in Her luminous realm in a sequence of movement, stillness, and ragged breaths.

Obi-Wan’s entire body shudders when he fills Anakin completely and stills himself again, stroking Anakin’s shoulder. Then, very slowly he moves down, letting go of Anakin’s hand and wrapping him in his arms as he has the Force, pressing his face to Anakin’s hair, and Anakin trembles within his embrace. Obi-Wan is everywhere, around him, above him, inside his body and his very soul, owning him and shielding him from everything, war, chaos, the Dark Side and Anakin’s own fears, and Anakin chokes with tears of ecstasy, whispering a prayer of gratitude to the Force.

“Anakin… are you all right?” Obi-Wan’s breath is hot on Anakin’s ear.

“Yes…” says Anakin, and this has never been more true. He turns his head to find Obi-Wan’s lips, and Obi-Wan gets his intention and kisses him almost reverently, both of them laughing at Anakin’s hair getting into their mouths, Obi-Wan’s frantic heartbeat resonating in Anakin’s shoulder blade.

“Stop worrying, Master… You can move…”

“Not yet,” murmurs Obi-Wan.

Anakin wants to protest, but suddenly the Force surges like a powerful wave, and he’s swept under, drowned in the familiar light he would recognize in a million as Obi-Wan flings himself open just like Anakin did long minutes before. All of his shields are shattered now, and beneath them everything is exposed: fears, failures, and isolation, sorrows, losses and joys, and his unwavering, unconditional love for the only man he would share his heart with. Anakin can see his own reflection through Obi-Wan’s eyes, radiant and beloved, and can barely recognize himself. There is also the wild, all-consuming desire and need, and Anakin marvels at Obi-Wan’s restraint as the other man is simply holding him, pressing quick and gentle kisses to his hair.

“Now,” Anakin begs, and this time Obi-Wan doesn’t object.

He thrusts forwards cautiously, then slightly harder, and Anakin covers the hand pressed to his chest with his metal fingers, knowing now that for Obi-Wan he is whole. This feeling is strangely miraculous, as though his old wounds have been healed and the burdens weighing him down have been lifted, and he feels free and beautiful like the reflection he’s seen in Obi-Wan’s mind.

Together, they create a rhythm, slow at first, and then faster, their bodies moving in a perfect synchrony. They are so well adjusted to each other through the years of lightsaber practice and meditation, through countless battles where their lives depended on the precision of their movements and the ability to get attuned to each other’s intentions, that this new intimacy feels like the last missing piece of a puzzle, making them complete.

Obi-Wan’s tight embrace and warm breath on his neck bring a fleeting memory of hours ago, which seems now like a different lifetime, when they were hanging together over the precipice of the elevator shaft and Obi-Wan was holding him in much the same away. Anakin remembers how through the rush of adrenaline he couldn’t help thinking that it felt like a lovers’ embrace, how he wished _if only it were true_ , and presses a kiss to Obi-Wan’s forearm with a joyous laugh. Now, he truly believes he is blessed by the Force.

“You… don’t…. have… to hold back,” Anakin manages to say, even though all the coherent words seem to be leaving his mind.

He can sense how Obi-Wan is letting go of his restraint little by little, no longer afraid of harming Anakin’s body or mind, moving more freely, taking pleasure in their joining, and his soft moans ignite something raw in Anakin, a hunger, a craving to know what it will be like to make Obi-Wan lose control, to have Obi-Wan come undone in his arms, and Anakin is elated by a ferocious certainty that he’ll have a chance to do that, too. Suddenly, it no longer feels like they are running out of time, but that they have all the time in the world.

Obi-Wan changes the angle of his thrusts, just slightly but right, and sparkles of pleasure start dancing before Anakin’s closed eyelids. It’s like before with Obi-Wan’s fingers, only now the intensity increases tenfold, and Anakin can’t control the inarticulate throaty moans coming from deep within him. Every time Obi-Wan does that, it feels like liquid fire coursing through his veins, overriding everything else, Anakin’s entire body melting like heated wax. He can sense the build-up of Obi-Wan’s pleasure through the Force, and it multiplies his own like a multifaceted crystal.

“Anakin… Oh Force…” rasps Obi-Wan, and deep down Anakin is amazed at his eloquence because he himself at this point can’t utter a meaningful word.

Obi-Wan rolls them both on their sides, spooned behind, stroking Anakin’s lower belly and taking him in his hand, and all Anakin can do is cry out, throwing his head back on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan kisses him, sucking and biting his lower lip, and between his kisses, the thrusts of his hips and the strokes of his hand, deft and relentless, Anakin knows he can’t last much longer. His toes are curling with pleasure, and there is no stopping the pressure gathering in his body until it becomes more than he can take.

“I…” he moans desperately, clasping Obi-Wan’s hand. “Can’t…” 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan soothes, in a low voice heavy with need, pressing his lips to Anakin’s sweaty cheek and thrusting against that sensitive, unbearably sweet spot deep inside him. “That’s all right… Come for me, my dear Anakin.” And it’s the endearment and the sound of his voice, more than everything else, that undo Anakin completely.

_“Obi-Wan…”_

He doesn’t know if he’s thinking it or saying it out loud as his body shudders and the Force explodes in blinding fireworks, and he’s falling into a precipice, more profound than the one on the _Invisible Hand_ , but blissful and bright, because Obi-Wan is there with him. It feels like he’s dying, yet never so alive, like being reborn. Obi-Wan clutches Anakin to his chest, and his cry is muffled by Anakin’s hair as he presses his face to the top of his head, thrown over the edge by Anakin’s climax.

They lie together, boneless and breathless, and time does not exist.

Anakin is still holding Obi-Wan’s hand when he regains his senses. He brings it to his mouth for a kiss in slow motion, his body very heavy and warm, and Obi-Wan opens his palm, caressing his lips and the side of his face with a feather-like touch. He kisses the nape of Anakin’s neck between his hair, pulling out slowly, and Anakin rolls over, facing him. They stare at each other, and Anakin has never seen Obi-Wan’s expression so blissed-out and his hair so mussed.

“You might have difficulty untangling your hair tomorrow,” says Obi-Wan with a fond smile, brushing back and petting Anakin’s curls.

“You should see yourself,” says Anakin, a euphoric laughter rumbling in his chest. “You look kind of uncivilized, Master.”

“Curiously enough, I do not mind.”

Anakin reaches out, their mouths meeting in a slow and tender kiss, and the Force is radiating warmth and contentment. Anakin’s eyelids become very heavy as he nuzzles Obi-Wan’s neck, throwing an arm around his Master. Lover. He grins into the warm fragrant skin, unable to keep his eyes open. This day has been longer than a week, and suddenly he is very sleepy, pleasantly exhausted and barely able to move his heavy limbs.

“Perhaps… a shower would be a good idea?” asks Obi-Wan softly, stroking his arm.

“Together? Mmhmm…” agrees Anakin, nuzzling further into Obi-Wan’s warmth, and doesn’t move.

He can’t fight the sleep that is claiming him, and the last thing he registers is Obi-Wan throwing a blanket over them and whispering softly: “Yes, together, always. Sleep well, Anakin.”

Anakin does.


	3. Chapter 3

Sunlight is coming through half-closed blinds when Anakin wakes up, warm and pleasantly sore, sprawled half on top of Obi-Wan. The moment is full of such peace and joy he wants to make it last and closes his eyes again, listening to the other man’s heartbeat. Obi-Wan is fast asleep, and through their connection in the Force Anakin can sense his bone-deep fatigue and tries not to wake him up. 

He looks around the room at the dust dancing in slanted rays of sunshine, brighter now that the planetary shields above this area have been destroyed, and at the rows of books going from the floor to the ceiling, some spines looking centuries old. Obi-Wan’s room has always been both a sanctuary that awed and humbled him, and the only place where he could find comfort.

He remembers feeling inadequate and jealous listening to Obi-Wan and Organa’s intellectual talks about the golden-age of Alderaani poetry. He was clueless then. It was just after the first shock of the war, a mission when they broke through the enemy defenses too late only to see an entire village slaughtered mercilessly, and he was sobbing half of the night in Obi-Wan’s arms, and when they were out of tears and had no more words, Obi-Wan read him translations of old Alderaani poetry in a hoarse and broken voice, _‘When stars burn out and all things end, I shall be there to hold thy hand_ ’ _._ He didn’t guess then that it was Obi-Wan’s way of telling him of his love.

Obi-Wan sighs and stirs, and Anakin looks up to see the birth of a bright joyful smile in the depth of his eyes, hazy with sleep.

“Good morning, Master,” he says, resting his chin on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and he isn’t surprised in the least when Obi-Wan’s first movement is to brush away the hair falling on Anakin’s eyes, and his hand lingers, tangled in Anakin’s curls, a thumb stroking his cheek. Anakin leans in the touch.

“Good sounds like an understatement,” Obi-Wan’s voice is warm like the sunlight that fills room.

They look at each other wordlessly, basking in each other’s glowing presence in the Force. The beeping sound from the common room is soft, but to Anakin it suddenly sounds shriller than a red alert going off in the dead of the night.

"Let's pretend we don't hear it?" he says with a crooked smile, desperately clutching through the Force at the remains of the sunlit bliss being brutally ripped away from him.

"Can we really do that, Anakin?" Obi-Wan sighs with heart-wrenching regret in his voice.

Anakin knows the answer, but he is reluctant to let go of Obi-Wan. "Hey _,_ buddy,” he says over his shoulder. “Get us Obi-Wan’s comm, okay?"

This time Obi-Wan doesn’t protest against Artoo’s assistance. He sits up, cross-legged, the blanket slipping to his lap, and takes the comm from the droid.

"Master Windu," he says, all business-like, in a strange contrast with his tangled hair and warm skin, and Anakin watches his mouth set in a firm line, the corners of his lips turning down slightly. Here it is again, the world trying to tear them apart, the reality of the war making today another last day of their lives, the reality of the Order ready to proclaim them renegades for going against its dogmatic beliefs.

Anakin sits up, too, wrapping an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders. He’s not giving up what they have now without a fight. He finds that neither is Obi-Wan.

“Might I suggest perhaps another course of action?” Obi-Wan says, and his hard voice belies the polite wording. “I shall bring Anakin with me. It would seem quite reasonable to inform him of your findings before we proceed any further. I also think it would be wise to send him to the Chancellor accompanied by a fellow Jedi, who could be me. I am ready to discuss this plan further with you.”

Anakin takes the comm from Obi-Wan’s hand the moment the communication is ended and slips it under the pillow, as though not seen it doesn’t exist. Obi-Wan hugs him with a pained sigh, and Anakin tucks his head beneath his chin.

“We could run away, you know?” he says, allowing himself for a moment to pursue this insane and impossible dream. “Far away, somewhere to the Outer Rim, where no one has heard of the war, or the Jedi. You could teach anyone anything because you know everything… I could fix things… We could have any life we want to have, free…”

He closes his eyes, briefly letting his imagination run wild, and looks at Obi-Wan to see if the other man is laughing at him for such silly thoughts. But Obi-Wan just stares at him intensely, without a shadow of a smile, and gently traces Anakin’s lips with his index finger.

“We could, Anakin… I hope one day we will, when no lives depend on us.”

Anakin knows that these have been childish ramblings, but he can’t help looking away, his eyes stinging.

“I’ll show you my favorite place in the galaxy,” continues Obi-Wan, and suddenly Anakin realizes that his Master is not placating him. Obi-Wan is simply speaking his mind. “It’s about a hundred clicks from Aldera, high up in the mountains. It’s quiet there, and you should see the color of the mountain tops at sunset…” he says dreamily, and then adds with a small laugh. “Chances are that you might appreciate it, because there is no sand.”

Anakin makes a face. “I’ll take your word on that, Master, and that’s the second time, in case you have forgotten. You’ve promised me a long and meaningful life with you by my side and a trip to what sounds like Organa’s summer estate.”

“Winter estate, actually. And I am not one to break my promises,” says Obi-Wan, looking affronted.

“No,” says Anakin, grinning. “You are not.”

He listens to the Force singing a song of hope, light and love and lets it enter his heart and his mind, and he can sense that so does Obi-Wan. They reach out for each other in the Force at the same time as their lips meet halfway in a kiss, and Anakin knows with certainty: they are together, in everything, and together they are invincible.

He is ready to face whatever this day brings.


End file.
